


Striptease

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [31]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 06:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Poe likes to watch.





	Striptease

Poe leans back in his throne, his fingers tapping out the beat of the music. Ta-rum, ta-rum, ta-rum. The song is one of Kylo’s choosing: a heady drum that pulses faster than his resting heartbeat, and fluting, bouncing lines like birds rising and falling over a cliffside.

Kylo is wearing his new uniform, the robes of high protocol and function. His neck pulled proud and straight by the tight rings of black leather, and the cloak that tumbles from his shoulders flashes off-black shine in the subtle lights of this room.

He had a hand in the creation of this dress, of course he did. It’s not that Kylo lacks the style, or even the confidence to create, it’s just that they enjoy forging their joint image, together. 

Still, he’s sure his Knight will have added plenty of surprises to the silks, cottons, and linens. 

Poe watches as his lover’s sleek-gloved hands push down his hood, revealing his tumble of hair. Small braids amidst the curls, clasped beads that rustle softly as he moves. They’ll feel incredible in his fingers, especially when he grabs tight hold. Kylo’s pale face is marked with five stark lines: black under each eye, silver dust above the lids, and his lower lip stained ruby red, the upper one as nude as he soon will be. 

Kylo always used to feel self-conscious about his body, but he’s learned to enjoy himself, or enjoy _Poe_ enjoying himself, which is close enough. He turns, and the cloak lags a little behind, swirling like an engine’s wake, swaying to rest, brushing the backs of his ankles. 

Click-click, and the fabric falls, gracing the expanse of his shoulders and courting his spine and buttocks like the spray from a shower, puddling at his feet. 

The tunic below is flared over the shoulders, a stiff triangle of fabric that points down to the base of his spine. Ridges running parallel, filling him out, shaping him to give the illusion of a wasp-waist. His sleeves are pleated, down to the points that loop around his middle fingers, and Kylo turns to show off the silver buckles that run in a slash from one shoulder to the other hip.

Open, one at a time. The fabric sighing down like a tongue lolling, and showing the open-weave cloth of gold that holds to his skin. 

Kylo drops the sleeveless tunic, and is left with the vest of gold, and the bolero shrug around his shoulders, still holding his throat erect.

His Knight’s movements hit every beat just right, and the gloved hands pull open the exquisite clasp (the Emperor’s seal, stamped on his waistline), and he shimmies out, his long legs stepping out of the pile, closer to him. Poe’s eyes soften with affection, and he watches the skin-tight leather work its way off Kylo’s hips, leaving him bare. He’d been naked in those pants, and now he’s free, his cock bounces full and ready. The slender sound flares at the tip where it’s locked, the subtle cage around the base of his shaft obvious when he rises.

Next go the gloves, dropping like rain to the floor, the bolero unclicked from his throat, following suit. Only the gold vest, which Kylo goes to remove, but Poe shakes his head. 

“Leave that on, my Knight.”  


“Whatever my Emperor commands,” he purrs, and holds his hands - palm out - by his sides.  


A nod of his head, and his Knight strides in those elegantly heeled boots and gold cloth, moving to the foot of his throne. He drops to kneel, and the pink, promising lip pouts as it hovers over his Master’s groin.

“May I, my Lord?”  


“Get it good and wet. I want you to sit on my lap while I run my hands over you,” Poe growls. “And see how scratchy that golden thing is against your nipples. I know how you _love_ that.”  


Fingers unfasten his many layers, and Kylo moans when he takes the shaft onto his tongue. Poe sinks his fingers into those delicate trusses, and guides him all the way home. 

Poe hopes the next song is faster. There is only so much slow one man can take.


End file.
